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The first time I saw Sherlock Holmes inject himself with a seven-percent solution of cocaine, I held my peace, but after the effects of the drug had worn off, I did ask him, casually, why he did not choose to seek to occupy his mind with something equally stimulating, yet less physically harmful.
Chess, for example.
"Hah!" erupted Holmes. "Chess? My dear fellow, chess is a game for schemers and lunatics." He turned his head from where he sat in the velvet-lined arm-chair and looked at me.
"Are you familiar with the name Paul Morphy? He's an American—an exceptional player by all accounts—who came to England in 1857 to play a match with Howard Staunton. It was a match that never materialized, to the American's great frustration. After winning a number of matches with lesser players in London and on the Continent, Morphy returned to America, stopped playing chess, pursued a failed law career, and is now said to live in seclusion. There are credible rumors that he has lost his mind."
"You seem to know quite a bit about this Morphy fellow," I said, "but nothing of Thomas Carlyle or the Copernican Theory…." I let my voice trail off, as I did not know quite how to pursue my line of questioning.
"Yes, I see. And you wonder why, given that I've professed to carefully stock my mental attic only with useful knowledge, is that it?" said Holmes. I let my facial expression reply in the affirmative.
"Well," said Holmes, making himself more comfortable in the arm-chair, "as it happens, I learned to play chess when I was twelve years old, and while I made some remarkable progress over the next three years, the more I played, the more I fell under the game's spell. If it hadn't been for the disappearance and murder of a certain master named Ali Stair, and my contribution to uncovering his killer's identity, I might have devoted my life to a game that can grip one's faculties as firmly—if not more so—as any narcotic."
"You continue to amaze me, Holmes," I said. "What about this Ali fellow?"
"Ali was a 'professional' chess player, in the sense that his livelihood came from playing the game. Born to poverty in Turkey, his native talent for chess and skill at dealing with monied patrons enabled him to save enough money to travel to Paris, where he set up shop at the Café de la Régence, where he added considerably to his capital. In 1865, he came to England, took the surname 'Stair'—perhaps thinking this a clever play on the name 'Alistair'—and began playing at clubs in London, with considerable success. Ali was invited to participate in a tournament organized a few months in advance of the first British Championship, which was held in London the following year. I had the good fortune—at least, I thought so at the time—of being allowed to observe the games, in the capacity of a water server for the participants."
"Really, Holmes!" I said, amused, picturing a younger version of my friend running about with a pitcher. I received a thin smile in reply.
"I was a year short of my sixteenth birthday, my dear fellow, and the experience was terribly intoxicating at the time. I even got to play some informal games with the participants, between rounds, and acquitted myself well, but let me return to my story," said Holmes. "At the last round, with prizes hanging in the balance, Ali Stair failed to appear for his game. In fact, he was nowhere to be found! He forfeited his game, of course, and there was quite a commotion, as you might imagine."
"What happened?" I asked.
"As we shortly learned, someone had taken Ali by force, bound and gagged, from his room, dragged him in a semiconscious state to a secluded spot, and then doused him in kerosene from an oil lamp and set him on fire. When he was found, he was burned, barely alive, and dying, but he managed to say two words before expiring, although they seemed to make no sense at the time."
"Good heavens, Holmes," I said. "What did he say?"
"He said 'one before', but nobody could tell what was meant, at least not immediately."
"Was it you that found the key to the puzzle?" I asked.
"Well, it was at about that time that I noticed the emergence of certain reasoning abilities that I have since assiduously cultivated to become the world's only consulting detective. That, combined with my being in immediate proximity to the machinery that investigates crime, made me confident that I could contribute to the investigation. However, because of my age, nobody would listen to me."
"What did you do?"
"I resorted to an anonymous note, in which I suggested that the police turn their attention to the written record of the tournament's games and find a game in which Stair had played Black against a player whose first move had been 'Pawn to Queen's Knight 4'."
"What do you mean, 'the written record'?" I asked.
"Chess games can be recorded using special notation," explained Holmes. "This allows the games to be accurately reconstructed for later analysis or publication. Tournament organizers are quite enamored of the idea, as it offers an avenue for additional publicity, but I digress…." Holmes shifted slightly, and then continued.
"My note had apparently piqued the curiosity of the local constabulary, and as it turned out, there was such a record, of a game played in the second round that had ended in a convincing win for Stair, playing Black. When an inspector arrived to question Ali's opponent in that game, the man—suspecting that his guilt had been discovered—jumped out of the nearest window and—as it happens—impaled himself on a lawn ornament. He lived long enough to confess to the murder of Ali Stair."
"A terrible business, Holmes," I said. "But what led you to ask the police to make such a strange inquiry?"
"Not so strange, once you fill in some missing knowledge," said Holmes. "You see, chess players on the Continent have their own method of notating chess moves, one that relies on labeling the files of the chessboard with the letters 'a' through 'h', and the rows with the numbers '1' through '8'. I reasoned that Ali had recognized his attacker, and although he could not recall the man's name, he did recall one salient fact about him: his rather unorthodox opening move. And since Ali had learned notation using the Continental system, he expressed the opening move of 'Pawn to Queen's Knight 4' the only way he knew how: '1. b4'."
With that, Holmes turned his body sideways, toward the wall. "All very elementary, you know. Very elementary," he said, and drifted off to sleep.
Chess, for example.
"Hah!" erupted Holmes. "Chess? My dear fellow, chess is a game for schemers and lunatics." He turned his head from where he sat in the velvet-lined arm-chair and looked at me.
"Are you familiar with the name Paul Morphy? He's an American—an exceptional player by all accounts—who came to England in 1857 to play a match with Howard Staunton. It was a match that never materialized, to the American's great frustration. After winning a number of matches with lesser players in London and on the Continent, Morphy returned to America, stopped playing chess, pursued a failed law career, and is now said to live in seclusion. There are credible rumors that he has lost his mind."
"You seem to know quite a bit about this Morphy fellow," I said, "but nothing of Thomas Carlyle or the Copernican Theory…." I let my voice trail off, as I did not know quite how to pursue my line of questioning.
"Yes, I see. And you wonder why, given that I've professed to carefully stock my mental attic only with useful knowledge, is that it?" said Holmes. I let my facial expression reply in the affirmative.
"Well," said Holmes, making himself more comfortable in the arm-chair, "as it happens, I learned to play chess when I was twelve years old, and while I made some remarkable progress over the next three years, the more I played, the more I fell under the game's spell. If it hadn't been for the disappearance and murder of a certain master named Ali Stair, and my contribution to uncovering his killer's identity, I might have devoted my life to a game that can grip one's faculties as firmly—if not more so—as any narcotic."
"You continue to amaze me, Holmes," I said. "What about this Ali fellow?"
"Ali was a 'professional' chess player, in the sense that his livelihood came from playing the game. Born to poverty in Turkey, his native talent for chess and skill at dealing with monied patrons enabled him to save enough money to travel to Paris, where he set up shop at the Café de la Régence, where he added considerably to his capital. In 1865, he came to England, took the surname 'Stair'—perhaps thinking this a clever play on the name 'Alistair'—and began playing at clubs in London, with considerable success. Ali was invited to participate in a tournament organized a few months in advance of the first British Championship, which was held in London the following year. I had the good fortune—at least, I thought so at the time—of being allowed to observe the games, in the capacity of a water server for the participants."
"Really, Holmes!" I said, amused, picturing a younger version of my friend running about with a pitcher. I received a thin smile in reply.
"I was a year short of my sixteenth birthday, my dear fellow, and the experience was terribly intoxicating at the time. I even got to play some informal games with the participants, between rounds, and acquitted myself well, but let me return to my story," said Holmes. "At the last round, with prizes hanging in the balance, Ali Stair failed to appear for his game. In fact, he was nowhere to be found! He forfeited his game, of course, and there was quite a commotion, as you might imagine."
"What happened?" I asked.
"As we shortly learned, someone had taken Ali by force, bound and gagged, from his room, dragged him in a semiconscious state to a secluded spot, and then doused him in kerosene from an oil lamp and set him on fire. When he was found, he was burned, barely alive, and dying, but he managed to say two words before expiring, although they seemed to make no sense at the time."
"Good heavens, Holmes," I said. "What did he say?"
"He said 'one before', but nobody could tell what was meant, at least not immediately."
"Was it you that found the key to the puzzle?" I asked.
"Well, it was at about that time that I noticed the emergence of certain reasoning abilities that I have since assiduously cultivated to become the world's only consulting detective. That, combined with my being in immediate proximity to the machinery that investigates crime, made me confident that I could contribute to the investigation. However, because of my age, nobody would listen to me."
"What did you do?"
"I resorted to an anonymous note, in which I suggested that the police turn their attention to the written record of the tournament's games and find a game in which Stair had played Black against a player whose first move had been 'Pawn to Queen's Knight 4'."
"What do you mean, 'the written record'?" I asked.
"Chess games can be recorded using special notation," explained Holmes. "This allows the games to be accurately reconstructed for later analysis or publication. Tournament organizers are quite enamored of the idea, as it offers an avenue for additional publicity, but I digress…." Holmes shifted slightly, and then continued.
"My note had apparently piqued the curiosity of the local constabulary, and as it turned out, there was such a record, of a game played in the second round that had ended in a convincing win for Stair, playing Black. When an inspector arrived to question Ali's opponent in that game, the man—suspecting that his guilt had been discovered—jumped out of the nearest window and—as it happens—impaled himself on a lawn ornament. He lived long enough to confess to the murder of Ali Stair."
"A terrible business, Holmes," I said. "But what led you to ask the police to make such a strange inquiry?"
"Not so strange, once you fill in some missing knowledge," said Holmes. "You see, chess players on the Continent have their own method of notating chess moves, one that relies on labeling the files of the chessboard with the letters 'a' through 'h', and the rows with the numbers '1' through '8'. I reasoned that Ali had recognized his attacker, and although he could not recall the man's name, he did recall one salient fact about him: his rather unorthodox opening move. And since Ali had learned notation using the Continental system, he expressed the opening move of 'Pawn to Queen's Knight 4' the only way he knew how: '1. b4'."
With that, Holmes turned his body sideways, toward the wall. "All very elementary, you know. Very elementary," he said, and drifted off to sleep.
